To My Miscarried Daughter

“Dear Lily,

Three years ago today I was a different person. I was a newly married 23-year-old who was pregnant with her first child. I was so excited. My dreams were all coming true. Daddy had recently lost his job, and we had a falling out with some old friends. But then there were those two pink lines.

I don’t think I had ever been happier than the day I found out you were with me. I didn’t care about anything else; you were coming so I knew everything would be okay. I could see my life coming together. I could picture me you, Daddy, and Benson being the cutest little family.

You’d look like me, I was sure. Curly blonde hair and blue eyes; chubby cheeks.

I knew that since you were coming, I had to be the best person I could be. The day I saw those pink lines, I started praying again at night. I would pray to God to protect you and keep you safe. Then I would say goodnight to you and tell you that I loved you more than anything else in the world. I was so happy. I was a girl who hadn’t ever suffered loss. I was lucky.

My life, Lily, is now split, between the person I was before November 12, 2016, and the person I have become after.

I woke up to use the bathroom, looked down, and saw blood. I knew. Deep down I knew right away. A mother knows best.
The doctor said spotting is common. So, I went back to sleep. I dreamt of you telling me you were trying, and you told me not to worry. I woke again in a panic, went back into the bathroom, and the blood continued.

The ER doctors couldn’t tell me for sure but said it didn’t look good. I went home to rest. I wanted to sleep my life away. I wanted to drift off into a land where I knew you were ok.

More blood followed. Another trip to the ER with your Daddy and Aunt. Excruciating pains. Labor in a cold hospital bathroom. I flushed with my eyes sealed shut. I cried more tears I knew possible and said I was sorry. What kind of mother flushed her baby? Was that what I just did? I hoped I was wrong. I hoped you were still there. But I knew. A mother always knows.

Everyone kept apologizing. I didn’t know why because it wasn’t their fault. It was mine. I had one job, to protect you, and I couldn’t even do that. A nurse mentioned ‘rainbow babies.’ I didn’t care. I didn’t want a rainbow. I wanted you. I still want you.

I went home empty, Lily. The only thing that helped me was to talk to you. I wanted to die. I wanted to be with you so badly. There was no point in being on earth when my child was in heaven. I didn’t think I would ever get over the sadness.

It’s been 3 years, Lily, and I still haven’t. But I promise, I am okay. It comes in waves now. I am writing you today to thank you. Thank you for coming into my life, even for a short time. Your presence changed me. A life so small, yet I wouldn’t be the person I am today without having you.

I needed to lose you to find me. I needed to lose you to find God. I needed to lose you to be given your beautiful sister.

I wish this wasn’t the case. I wish I could’ve found me, God, and Jolie with you by my side here on Earth. But I know you are here. I can’t see you, but I have felt you every day for the past three years. You have been, and always will be, my special guardian angel.

Thank you, Lily. I would be nothing without you. My life is good, as you know, and I am so grateful to have you watching over us. Thank you for helping God pick out your perfect sister. She is the best gift I could’ve ever asked for.

I’m not afraid of what will happen when I die, because I know you will be waiting at the pearly gates of Heaven for me. I dream of that day baby girl, when I finally get to hold you in my arms, run my fingers through your curly blonde hair, kiss your chubby cheeks, look into your big beautiful eyes and tell you how much I love you.

Until we meet again.

Love,

Mommy”

Courtesy Mariah Martinez

This story was submitted to Love What Matters by Mariah Martinez, 26, of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Follow her journey on Instagram here. Do you have a similar experience? We’d like to hear your important journey. Submit your own story here.

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